FAR FROM HOME

War

Three years after Chadwick died, war broke out on Westland’s western border.

A neighboring country pushed thousands of soldiers across and hit several military positions at once. Westland fought back right away, but the fighting dragged on for months. They started losing men faster than they could replace them. Bases got overwhelmed. Reserves kept getting called up. Eventually the government announced a full emergency mobilization.

When Soren turned eighteen, the order came down: every able-bodied citizen of age had to report. Every household had to send someone. The Anderson family was no exception.

Everyone knew the eldest son was supposed to go.

But the matriarch had other ideas.

At a family meeting she looked straight at Soren.

“The country needs soldiers. This family has more than one young man who can serve. You’re already an outsider living under this roof. You should be the one to go.”

Soren’s eyes narrowed a little. “The order says the eldest eligible member reports first.”

“That’s not your concern,” she said, cold. “You’ve lived here for years and contributed nothing. At least now you can be useful.”

Soren didn’t answer.

He knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted him gone.

The others knew it too. Nobody said a word against her. After Chadwick’s death, Soren had no one left who could protect him.

Only Charles stepped forward.

“No.”

Everyone turned.

Charles stood by the table, one hand on the edge for balance. His blind eyes pointed toward the voices, but there was real anger in his voice.

“You can’t send Soren.”

The matriarch’s face darkened. “Charles, this is a family matter. Stay out of it.”

“He’s my brother.”

“He isn’t your brother by blood.”

Charles’s hands tightened. “I don’t care.”

The room went quiet.

The matriarch stared at him for a few seconds. “You should care. You’ve been a burden to this family your whole life, and now you want to protect another useless person?”

Soren’s expression shifted. Charles went pale.

The words weren’t new. She’d thrown Charles’s blindness at him more times than anyone could count, making him believe he was worthless because of it. But Soren had never let anyone talk about him like that in front of him.

He stepped forward.

“Enough.”

The matriarch looked at him. “What did you say?”

“I said enough.”

His voice stayed calm, but his eyes had gone cold.

“If they need soldiers, I’ll go.”

Charles turned toward him right away. “Soren, no.”

Soren looked at him and gave a small smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll come back.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying.”

Charles shook his head and reached for him. “You don’t have to prove anything to them. You don’t have to make them accept you.”

Soren took his hand. “I know.”

“Then don’t go.”

Soren was quiet for a moment.

Somewhere inside him a stupid hope had already started growing. Maybe if he went to war and came back alive—if he became someone worth respecting—the family would finally stop treating him like he didn’t belong. Maybe the matriarch would look at him differently. Maybe they’d finally admit he was one of them.

It was a naive thought.

“I’ll come back, Charles,” he said. “When I do, nobody will be able to look down on me again.”

Charles held his hand tight. “I don’t care if they respect you. I just want you to come back alive.”

The next morning the military vehicles pulled up outside the Anderson house.

Soren walked out with a simple bag. He had no idea he wouldn’t come back the same person who was leaving.

Charles had been waiting at the entrance since early morning. When he heard the engines he stepped outside right away.

“Soren!”

Soren stopped.

Charles walked toward the sound of his voice, but without sight he couldn’t tell exactly where Soren was standing.

“I’m here.”

Charles reached out until his hand found Soren’s arm. “Don’t go.”

Soren looked at him.

For a second he almost changed his mind.

Then the soldiers behind him spoke up. “It’s time.”

Charles’s grip tightened. “Please.”

Soren gently pulled Charles’s hand off his arm. “I’ll come back.”

He turned and climbed into the vehicle.

Charles stood frozen for a few seconds, then suddenly ran after it.

“Soren!”

The vehicle started moving.

Charles ran harder. “Soren!”

He couldn’t see the road. He could only follow the sound of the engine getting farther away.

His foot hit something and he went down hard. His palms scraped the ground, but he pushed himself up and kept crawling.

“Soren!”

The vehicle was already pulling away.

Charles collapsed in the middle of the road and screamed with everything he had.

“You have to come back alive!”

Inside the vehicle Soren heard him.

His fingers tightened on the bag.

He wanted to turn around. He wanted to tell Charles it would be fine.

But the vehicle kept going toward the base.

Soren didn’t know those would be the last words Charles ever shouted at him.

---

The war changed everything.

Soren went in as an ordinary eighteen-year-old recruit with no real experience. The veterans laughed at him for his age at first. He didn’t stay ordinary for long.

He learned faster than anyone around him. Strategies stuck after one read. He could read enemy movements, spot weak points in defenses, and stay calm when everyone else was losing it.

Years of fighting, wins, and promotions turned the inexperienced kid into one of the most feared commanders in Westland. Rank after rank until he became the youngest four-star admiral among the four major naval regions.

By then he wasn’t the same young soldier who’d left the Anderson house. His name was known across the military. But he never forgot Charles.

Every few weeks a letter from Charles would arrive, and Soren always made time to answer, no matter how busy things got.

Every few weeks, another letter.

“Soren, are you alive?”

He’d smile every time he read that line.

He always wrote back.

At first Charles’s letters were simple. Had Soren eaten? Had he been hurt? Were the other soldiers treating him okay?

Soren answered every question. He wrote about the base, the men he’d met, the battles he’d come through. He never told him how bad the war really was.

Charles would always write back:

“Don’t lie to me. I know you’re hiding something.”

Soren would laugh when he saw that sentence.

Years earlier he’d found out something almost no one outside the family knew.

Charles had taught himself to read and write even though he was blind. Raised guides, special techniques, learning letters by touch. It had taken him years. He’d done it so he could write to Soren without needing anyone else to read the letters for him.

Soren had asked him once why he went through all that trouble.

Charles had just said, “Because you’re my brother. I want my words to reach you directly.”

Soren never forgot that.

So every letter mattered.

Until one letter changed everything.

Soren opened the envelope expecting the usual message. The first few lines stopped him cold.

“Soren, something is wrong. The Anderson family is planning to kill me. I don’t know who I can trust anymore. You have to come back.”

He read it several times. His grip on the paper slowly tightened.

“Charles…”

He called the Anderson house right away. No one answered. He tried again and again. Still nothing.

For the next three days he couldn’t get the words out of his head.

On the third day an officer came into his command room looking serious.

“Admiral Soren, there’s been an incident in Nucus.”

Soren looked up from the papers on his desk. “What happened?”

The officer hesitated. “Your brother, Charles Anderson…”

Soren’s face changed. “What happened to Charles?”

The officer lowered his head. “His body was found in the sea.”

Soren froze.

For several seconds the four-star admiral who commanded thousands of men said nothing.

The officer went on carefully. “The body had been in the water for some time. Severe burns and chemical damage. Identification was extremely difficult, but the authorities confirmed it was Charles Anderson.”